


I Feel Like A Person (For A Moment Of My Life)

by kaijuvenom



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, And Sometimes When I Write Him He's Real Gross, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Can vorta get drunk??, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Really Depends On My Mood, It's Dukat, M/M, Now They Can, Other Times He's Not, Weyoun has a really warped notion of consent and sex in general, and saying 'fuck the founders.', but only for like. an hour. and only if quark makes them something incredibly toxic probably, it comes with being treated like an object for several lifetimes, jake sisko is simply the epitome of me speaking directly to the camera, love him thats my boy, takes place during the dominion occupation of DS9, weyoun gets drunk as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28186701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom
Summary: Weyoun never had any intention of ever accepting Jake’s endless requests to conduct an interview with him. The problem was that they were exactly that; endless. In any other situation, Weyoun would’ve liked Jake, his tenacity, his naivety even, but he was starting to become frustrating. Finally, Jake wore him down, and he agreed to the interview.The interview sets into motion a string of events Weyoun really wished he could stop, but he can't help the little voice that keeps creeping into his head, telling him that something about his life isn't right. That he isn't happy. And maybe he deserves better.Or maybe that's just Damar speaking to him in the background, and not actually an inner dialogue.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	I Feel Like A Person (For A Moment Of My Life)

**Author's Note:**

> ngl i was watching ds9 (as i often am) and i was watching,,, i think its A Time To Stand(?) (the one where jake is asking to interview weyoun) and i was like hey! that could be funny if weyoun ever actually agreed to it, so i wrote that one scene (the first scene in this fic + the interview article itself) and then somehow everything else tumbled after it in like. twelve hours. dunno where it all came from. anyway enjoy owO

Weyoun never had any intention of ever accepting Jake’s endless requests to conduct an interview with him. The problem was that they were that; endless. In any other situation, he would’ve liked Jake, his tenacity, his naivety even, but he was starting to become frustrating.

Finally, Jake wore him down and he agreed to the interview. 

It wasn’t like it would matter, Weyoun had the final say in everything Jake published, so what harm could come of it, really? It would be something to pass the time at best, and another reason for Dukat to be annoyed with him at worst (which was a positive, in Weyoun’s opinion). 

“So, Weyoun,” Jake said, standing across from Weyoun as he sat down. “Can I get you anything to drink?” He offered.

Weyoun blinked at him. “Something strong to get me through this,” he suggested.

Jake raised his eyebrow, setting the padd on the coffee table in front of him and turning to a cabinet next to the replicator. “My dad left some Romulan ale, I doubt he’ll want it back.”

“You’re cute,” Weyoun smiled, standing up himself and directing his attention to the replicator. “But being immune to poison makes me immune to alcohol. Luckily, Quark found a way around that. Never let it be said the Ferengi doesn’t care about his customer’s satisfaction. One warp core breach, please.”

The replicator buzzed for a moment as it prepared the drink, fog oozing out of the glass that appeared as Weyoun picked it up. He blew on it, watching the colors of whatever mysterious liquid was in it swirl around and change colors every second. 

Again, Jake raised an eyebrow as he sat down across from Weyoun, picking his padd back up. “What’s _in_ that?” He asked.

Weyoun took a sip, relishing in the fact that the drink was so strong, even he could taste it, to an extent at least. “I have no idea.” He took another long drink before nestling the glass in his lap, looking to Jake. “Shall we begin?”

“Right.” Jake cleared his throat, glancing down at the padd before looking back up again. “You’re the fifth iteration in your line, correct?”

Weyoun nodded. 

“How long has the Weyoun line existed?”

“To be honest, I stopped counting several hundred years ago.” He took another sip.

“Have you always been a diplomat?”

Again, he nodded. Perhaps he would get through this interview after all. 

“Don’t you get tired of it?”

Weyoun frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“Of doing the same job for so many years. Don’t you get a little sick of it? Wouldn’t it get repetitive?”

Blinking as if the thought to get bored had never occurred to him before, and it hadn’t, Weyoun shifted in his seat. “I live to serve the Founders. I do as they ask.”

“But it doesn’t get boring?”

“I…” Weyoun hesitated. “No.” To be honest, he wasn’t sure. He wondered if he even knew what boredom felt like. “I am content in knowing I’m doing the Founder’s bidding and keeping them happy.”

“... Right,” Jake said like he wasn’t convinced as he typed away on his padd. “And speaking of the Founders, you see them as Gods.”

“The Founders _are_ Gods,” Weyoun corrected, with enough conviction he doubted Jake could tell that response was out of muscle memory. 

“You see them that way.”

Weyoun frowned at him. “That isn’t a question.”

“You’re right, it’s more of a segue. I want to talk about this faith you have in them, because I am very interested in it, and I think the readers will be, too.”

“You’re getting quite ahead of yourself, Jake. And I’d rather not talk about the Founders if it’s all the same to you. I don’t feel the need to be ridiculed for my faith today. I get it enough from Dukat.” He spoke the name with such disdain he wondered if it was an effect of his drink or if he always spoke of Dukat that way and had never noticed it before. He took another drink.

“I’m not ridiculing you, I’m curious. A lot of people are. You know, on Earth we have plenty of religions, but none of us are created by the Gods we believe in to worship them. It’s sort of a confusing circle, isn’t it?”

Weyoun’s head was starting to spin, and maybe that was why he found it so difficult to follow along with what Jake was saying. “What?” He asked, blinking several times.

“The Vorta, as a species, you’re genetically programmed by the Founders, correct?” 

“Yes.”

“And they program your genetics to worship them.”

“Yes.” 

“So you worship them not because they enhanced your species and gave you the power you didn’t have, but because they programmed you to worship them?”

Weyoun took another long drink before answering. “I believe that is accurate, yes,” he finally decided, still not seeing what exactly it was that Jake was getting at.

“Have you ever thought about that?”

“What is there to think about?” Weyoun asked.

“I don’t know, the fact that from an outside perspective, the Founders seem to have found a physically weak species, manipulated you, and now control you as their slaves by cloning you with genetics that will make you see them as Gods?”

“That is--” Weyoun sputtered, sitting up straight in his chair. “That is _entirely_ incorrect, and the-- the _audacity_ for you to suggest that the Founders would--”

“Hey,” Jake interrupted, holding up his hands in surrender. _“I’m_ not the one suggesting it. I’m only saying what it looks like from an outside perspective. That’s what this interview is for. To dispel all those false accusations about the Founders. And the Vorta.”

Weyoun frowned at him, finishing off his drink and setting it on the side table, crossing his arms. 

“So how would you respond to critics of the Dominion who would call the Founders inhumane for enslaving multiple species to do their bidding and die for them?”

And this was why Weyoun had needed that drink. He put on his best smile, laced his fingers together, and leaned forward. “I believe I’d tell them they’re free to believe what they like, but that the Dominion’s only true goal is peaceful coexistence.”

“Hmm,” Jake responded, typing something else out on his padd. 

“You believe the Founders have enslaved me, and that if I had free will, I would choose not to worship them?”

Jake paused in his typing and looked at Weyoun, and the expression on his face was something Weyoun couldn’t name but didn’t like. “Yes. I do.”

The meaning of Jake’s expression sunk in rather fast after that. It was pity. He pitied Weyoun. And if there was one thing Weyoun _despised,_ it was being pitied. Even worse that he was being pitied for something as ridiculous as this. Of course, he would still worship his Founders even if his genetics didn’t tell him to. Why wouldn’t he? They were his Gods. 

Weyoun looked down at the floor, the room was beginning to spin even more now. “This interview is over,” he said in a soft voice. “I believe you know the way out.”

Jake left without another word, and Weyoun couldn’t bring himself to watch him go, he didn’t want to risk seeing that look of pity again. 

********

Approximately one week later, a message from Jake appeared on his com system. It read: _Don't worry, I won’t even ask if I can publish it. I know what the answer is,_ followed by an article Jake had written, one Weyoun could tell without even opening was the interview. 

Weyoun hesitated before expanding the message to read it, his hand hovering above the _accept_ button for several long seconds, before he finally pressed it. 

_Ever since the war began, I’ve found myself wondering if we are looking at this whole thing wrong. The perception of the Dominion is that it is an unsympathetic and brutal occupying force, but is this the truth? I was recently given the pleasure of interviewing the Vorta who commands Deep Space Nine and decided to investigate these beliefs._

_The Vorta Weyoun is the fifth in his line, and as the primary ambassador to the Dominion, one might believe he feels the stress his job should entail. Despite this, I have yet to once see him lose control of a situation. Perhaps this is due to his hundreds of years of experience doing the same thing--as he told me that since his first iteration, he has been a diplomat._

_Although he has been tasked with the same job for five lifetimes, he seemed confused when I asked him if he ever grew bored of it. His answer to the question was that he lived to serve the Founders, and would do their bidding, which is a common answer to most questions one might ask a Vorta if they were ever given the opportunity._

_I then asked him about how he viewed the Founders, and his indignant reply when I said he saw the Founders as Gods was, ‘the Founders_ **_are_ ** _Gods’, which is again an interesting response. Despite his reluctance to speak of the Founders when I questioned more, his silence on the matter spoke volumes._

_While bringing up the point that Gods don’t genetically program a species to worship them, Weyoun seemed to become angered, or at the very least annoyed. Whether it was with my ineptitude as an interviewer or with the questions themselves, I am unsure._

_He never denied that the only reason he worships the Founders is due to his genetic programming, and in fact, he outright admitted it to me but didn’t believe there was anything unusual about this. I offered him an explanation of the situation from an outsider’s perspective, asking him how he might respond to those who would say the Vorta are an enslaved race, and that if they weren’t programmed the way they are, they would want nothing to do with the Founders._

_Weyoun grew distressed by this, and this was the first time I have ever seen him lose control of a situation, and lose control of his feelings. In fact, before this moment, I wasn’t sure if he was capable of feelings, if he only acted out feelings he thought were appropriate for a given situation but never felt anything. I knew at that moment I’d been wrong._

_He regained his control as quickly as he’d lost it, and I would expect nothing less from him. Weyoun possesses a remarkable ability to mask his true thoughts in a pleasant smile and empty platitudes, such as the one he presented me with at that moment, ‘ the Dominion’s only true goal is peaceful coexistence’._

_Despite my obvious disbelief of that statement, Weyoun seemed as disbelieving of my opinions as I did his, asking me if I believed that if he had free will, he would choose to abandon the Founders. When I responded that yes, it was what I believed, he announced the interview to be over. He told me to leave and didn’t even look at me as I did. He stared down at the floor as I left, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he could be thinking._

_All I can know is what I’m thinking, that Weyoun and every Vorta and Jem’Hadar deserve something more than a lifetime (and more) of slavery and servitude. Despite this, I can tell Weyoun didn’t want my pity. Why would he? In his mind, he is doing exactly what he was made to do; he lives to serve the Founders. As easy as it may be to blame the entirety of the Dominion for this war, I do not believe he is the real enemy._

_It is vital to think of the Vorta and Jem’Hadar not as the enemy, but as two more worlds conquered by the Founders, their cultures and lives broken into submission. Worlds that deserve as much aid from us as any other._

Weyoun reread the article several times before he finally looked away, rubbing his eyes. He should never have done the interview. He should’ve had Jake locked up in a holding cell for annoying him with his constant questioning of when Weyoun would allow him to interview him, and been done with it. 

Instead of doing that, he’d caved. Because he’d been _bored,_ and Jake had at least been right about that. Weyoun was bored. 

And this was the result. Jake now _pitied_ him, believed him to be weak and broken by a manipulative species to do their bidding, which couldn’t be _further_ from the truth. Although Weyoun wasn’t sure what the truth was, he knew it wasn’t that. It _couldn’t_ be that, because the Founders were his Gods, he lived for them, he died for them, and that was his purpose. What had the Vorta been before the Founders? Nothing. And Weyoun wouldn’t want to be nothing again, he wouldn’t want to reject the gift his Gods had given his species, and he never would. Not that he could if he wanted to.

He supposed that was Jake’s point. 

After considering deleting the message and deciding against it, Weyoun left his quarters and went down to Quark’s bar. Damar was there, and usually, Weyoun would try to avoid Damar, because he didn’t like him on principle, it annoyed him that Dukat trusted Damar more than he did Weyoun, so his dislike of Damar was more of a misplaced dislike for Dukat. Not that Weyoun wanted Dukat to like him, he saw what happened to the people Dukat _liked,_ but still. He’d like to be trusted. Perhaps that was his fault for being so untrustworthy.

He sat next to Damar at the bar without a word, glancing his way as Damar turned toward him. 

“You look like you rolled out of a swamp,” Damar commented in greeting. 

“Fuck off,” Weyoun responded, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t often one for profanity (it was undignified, but Damar wouldn’t care, he liked Weyoun better the less dignified he was). 

“Let me get you something to drink,” Damar said, unphased by Weyoun’s uncharacteristic vulgarity, waving down Quark. 

“Warp core breach,” Weyoun said automatically and watched as Damar repeated the order to Quark, who glanced over at Weyoun with an odd expression on his face before leaving again.

There was a short silence between them, Weyoun listening in on conversations across the bar, not on purpose, it happened when one had such good hearing. “Thank you,” he said, and it seemed to take Damar a moment to realize Weyoun had been addressing him.

Damar shrugged, finishing off his kanar and pouring himself another glass. “You don’t normally come here.”

Weyoun blinked. “I’m in Quark’s all the time.”

“Not at the bar.”

That was true. Weyoun rarely drank in public, he would be at the Dabo tables or chatting with patrons, he wasn’t sure he’d ever sat at the bar, actually. He’d asked Quark for the recipe and coding for his strongest drinks to be added to Weyoun’s personal replicator, so no one ever had to see him so… out of control. So weak.

“I am now.”

“Evidently.”

Another silence, broken only by the sound of Quark setting Weyoun’s drink in front of him. He leaned forward, swirling his hand around the fog that lifted from the glass, watching as it trailed onto the counter and dissipated soon after. “Do you think if I drank enough of these, it’d kill me?” Weyoun asked, his voice feeling like it was miles away from his body. He picked up the glass and drained it all at once, then signaled for Quark to get him another one.

“What?” 

Weyoun blinked. “Nevermind.” 

“Aren’t Vorta immune to poison?” 

Weyoun finally snapped his eyes up to Damar. “I thought you didn’t hear me.”

“That was less of an _I didn’t hear you_ what, and more of an _I heard you, but I can’t believe what you said_ what.” 

“Ah.” Weyoun nodded, not sure how else to respond to that. “Are you drunk?” He asked.

Damar glanced down at his kanar. “Not particularly. That was my first glass.”

Weyoun nodded, glancing toward the Dabo tables as he heard some form of commotion over there. “Good Lord,” he muttered, causing Damar to look over and cringe at the sight of Dukat, who had entered the bar when neither of them had been paying attention and was now unapologetically hitting on a Dabo girl, despite her clear disinterest-- even disdain. 

“He does things like this and he isn’t even drunk,” Weyoun mused, snapping his fingers at two nearby Jem’Hadar. 

“Now imagine working with that every hour of every day on a particularly small ship,” Damar said, a look of disgust on his face. 

“I would prefer not to,” Weyoun responded before addressing the Jem’Hadar. “I want you to guard that woman, don’t let Dukat touch her.” Not that she needed it, she had called Dukat something in Bajoran that Weyoun was sure was not a compliment, and slapped him across the face.

Damar snorted into his kanar, and Weyoun hid a small laugh behind his hand. Quark had entered the scene after handing Weyoun his third drink and was now talking to the Dabo girl, trying to calm her down and get her back to work, but she was arguing with him, saying something about refusing to work until Dukat was escorted out. Weyoun relayed this to Damar, whose hearing was lacking compared to that of a Vorta’s. 

“One of us should go over there and smooth this whole thing over,” Weyoun said, making no movements to get up as one of the Jem’Hadar he’d sent over took Dukat by the arm roughly. Dukat said something in protest that caused the Bajoran Dabo woman to call him a Rakonian swamp rat.

“If we wait long enough, Odo might arrest him,” Damar retaliated, and Weyoun nodded in agreement. 

“Do you think he even knows we’re here?” Weyoun asked, tilting his head as he watched Dukat throw a bar of latinum from the Dabo table at the Bajoran woman, who had to be held back by Quark to prevent her from punching him. Not that Quark was strong, he’d be forced to let her go in a few seconds.

“I doubt it.” 

“He’d be humiliated if he knew we saw him throwing a temper tantrum.”

“I can’t wait to tell him tomorrow.” 

Weyoun laughed again, watching as the woman wrestled her way out of Quark’s grip and headed towards Dukat, who was still too busy fighting off the Jem’Hadar holding him back to notice that she was about to punch him. Half the bar cheered as her first hit landed on the side of his face and he cursed, finally managing to wrestle out of the Jem’Hadar’s hold and lunging at her. 

Quark had managed to scramble away from the fight and was now behind the bar, contacting security. As he did, Weyoun finished off his third drink and signaled him for a fourth. The fight continued, and Weyoun was astounded at how terrible Dukat was at hand-to-hand combat, or at least, bar fights. Or the Dabo girl was extremely talented. 

“Do you think Odo will arrest her?” Weyoun asked.

“I doubt it. He’ll give her a warning and put Dukat in a holding cell for a few hours, and that’ll be the end of it. And speaking of Odo, we should leave before he shows up.”

Weyoun glanced over at him. “He’ll likely find some way to blame me for this occurrence, so yes, let’s.” They snuck out, completely unnoticed by the large crowd that had gathered to watch the fight, and Weyoun even managed to snatch his drink from Quark’s hands and bring it with him. He was still laughing as he was led out of the bar and down the Promenade by Damar, who, for some unknown reason, had chosen to take Weyoun by the hand.

The feeling of Damar’s hand in his caused something in Weyoun to stir to life, a pleasing, warm feeling that crept through his body. He decided to hold Damar’s hand more tightly, even when they reached the turbolift. 

Weyoun should hold hands with people more often; it was nice. As his laughter peeled away and he caught his breath, making a mental note to check in with security tomorrow to make sure that woman was cleared of all charges, he was distracted by this niceness of holding hands. 

Damar seemed not to have any complaints either, as he hadn’t said anything about it. In Weyoun’s free hand, he was still holding his drink. It was now less pretty than it had been when Quark had first mixed it, and he decided he no longer wanted to hold it because if he had another free hand, he could use _that_ hand to hold Damar’s _other_ hand. That would double the number of pleasurable feelings holding one hand had caused, which was ideal. So he drank the entire drink in one gulp and set it on the turbolift floor before he leaned forward and took Damar’s other hand to examine the way his scales changed colors in the blinking light. 

“Weyoun,” Damar began, and Weyoun was far too focused on the pattern of his scales to determine his tone of voice, “what are you doing?”

“Experimenting,” he said, although he wasn’t sure that was quite the right response. He intertwined their fingers, the same way he’d seen other humanoids do with their partners as they walked down the Promenade. He tilted his head as he examined the way Damar’s fingers closed around his, deciding the feeling was, again, an altogether pleasant one. 

“Experimenting… with what?” Damar prompted, caught between continuing to let Weyoun do what he wanted and pulling his hand away.

“I find this enjoyable,” Weyoun said matter-of-factly, letting go of Damar’s hand only to extend his hand up, pressing their palms together in the way he’d seen Cardassians do before. He tilted his head the other way.

“You do,” Damar said, less like it was a question and more like he was trying to wrap his head around the fact that Weyoun was capable of enjoying anything that Damar was a part of. To be frank, Weyoun was having trouble believing it himself. He’d gone all this time thinking he disliked Damar, but perhaps that had been an incorrect judgment to make. He was quite enjoyable company. When he wasn’t too drunk, at least. 

Speaking of being drunk, Weyoun shouldn’t have had that fourth drink, his head was beginning to spin in that same way it always did when he started to get drunk. It was odd how drunkenness, as far as Weyoun was aware, never affected him for too long, usually an hour at most, before it wore off, and he’d never once gotten a hangover. He should be thankful for that. But it still affected him if he had enough, and he’d certainly had enough.

He stumbled when the turbolift stopped on the floor of his quarters, falling against Damar’s chest and deciding to stay there. It was comforting, and Weyoun wasn’t sure he was capable of standing up straight anyway. 

“Weyoun,” Damar said, “you’re drunk.”

He was correct about that, Weyoun’s cheeks felt warm, they were colored in a concerning radioactive purple shade that they often were when he was drunk, but he couldn't find it in himself to mind at the moment. “I know I am, but what’re you?” He responded, feeling as if that were the best possible comeback he could think up. 

“Vaguely tipsy, but completely sober compared to you” Damar responded blandly, wrapping his arm around Weyoun and helping him walk out the turbolift and down the hall to his quarters. 

“You’re warm,” Weyoun commented, leaning further against Damar’s side, enjoying the softness of his shirt in comparison to the armor he wore when on duty. 

“I’m coldblooded, Weyoun,” Damar said, and his voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles above him. 

“Oh…” he paused, frowning, “maybe I’m warm, then.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Hm.”

Damar seemed to know where Weyoun’s quarters were even without his directions, which was good because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to give directions anyway. 

“Come on,” he said, taking Weyoun over to his bed and helping him lie down. “You don’t do this often, do you?” Damar asked, frowning as he watched Weyoun sigh contentedly and wiggle into a pile of blankets that had been left there from last night. 

“Course I do. Usually, I do it alone,” Weyoun muttered, grabbing Damar’s arm and pulling him down until he sat on the edge of the bed. 

“Aren’t you the one always telling me not to poison myself with alcohol?”

“I’m a Vorta. I’m immune.”

“Clearly not that immune,” Damar said, and Weyoun felt his hand brushing against his forehead and pushing some loose curls away from his face. 

“It’ll wear off,” Weyoun whispered, blinking a few times to dispel the amount of blurriness in his vision, which didn’t help. Was he crying? He wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d drank so much that he was leaking extra alcohol out of his eyes. That could be fun. He blinked again and felt a drop of water roll down his temple.

He felt Damar’s hand against his skin again, brushing away the teardrop like it was nothing. “Of course it will. That’s it’s job.”

Damar’s words were coming in slowly, and Weyoun should’ve let himself fall asleep and forget whatever it was that had happened today. That interview with Jake had caused him to go to the bar in the first place, and he'd like to forget it and move on with his life. Instead, he forced himself to stay awake, looking up at the fuzzy outline of Damar sitting above him. “I’ve spent my entire existence… pretending,” he said, swallowing, his throat dry. 

“Pretending what?” Damar prompted, and he shifted above Weyoun, but Weyoun couldn’t make out his expression. His petting of Weyoun’s hair continued.

“Everything. _I live for the Founders.”_ He choked out a laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t. I never have.”

“That isn’t true,” Damar said, and Weyoun for some reason wasn’t comforted by those words. “You serve the Dominion, as I serve Cardassia, and you do it well.”

“Of course I do,” Weyoun responded, sitting up too abruptly, it made his head spin and he felt nauseous for a moment. “I’m pretending. And that’s what I’m good at.” 

Damar’s hand removed itself from his face, and he pulled back a bit like he was scared of the sudden closeness Weyoun had caused by sitting up straight. Weyoun tilted his head to the side, or at least, he meant to, but he wasn’t sure if he managed it, what with the room already spinning. “Have you always looked like that?” Weyoun asked, squinting at him.

“Looked like what?” Damar asked, catching Weyoun’s arms as he attempted to grab at his face and accidentally poke out his eyes. 

“You’re glowing,” Weyoun said, abandoning his attempt to touch Damar’s face when he found himself content with touching his hands again. “Purple,” he clarified as if that clarified anything.

“No, but you are,” Damar said, leaning forward to get Weyoun to lie back down again. “And while your… extreme blush is quite amusing, you should sleep it off.”

“I’ll be _fine,”_ Weyoun murmured, stretching out the _i_ much longer than was necessary. 

“As soon as you lie down, you will be.”

Instead of lying down, Weyoun resisted Damar’s efforts to keep him safe and managed to wrap his arms around his neck, not quite sure what he was doing but only knowing that he wanted closeness. That he wanted something real, and here was Damar. He was real, and he was right here, and Weyoun could-- he could kiss him right now, and that was what he was going to do, because he needed it, needed that feeling of someone pressed against him, to prove Weyoun was real. His eyes slipped closed as he closed the distance between them, he felt Damar’s lips brush against his for a split second before--

“Weyoun.” Damar had pulled away, putting Weyoun’s hands back in his lap. “Sleep this off. You’re going to do something you’ll regret in the morning.”

Weyoun stuck out his tongue at that, disappointed he’d been denied what he thought was a brilliant idea to keep Damar as close as possible to him for a long period.

“I’ve done this while I was _drunk_ before,” he argued, although he let himself be guided back down on the bed, closing his eyes.

“Done what, exactly?” 

Weyoun didn’t respond for a moment, curling himself up under the blankets to escape his sudden bout of chills. “Been fucked,” he said, and, as he had earlier when he’d said the word, he found it fun to say. It was such a vulgar word, and Weyoun wasn’t meant to say things like that. Another little act of rebellion.

“Yes, well, I’m not-” Damar paused, clearing his throat. Weyoun felt his weight shift off the bed like he’d stood up, and he blinked his eyes open again to watch him. “I’m not doing that.”

“Because you hate me,” Weyoun nodded, or at least, he did his best to nod while bundled in several pillows.

“That isn’t- that isn’t why at all. It’s like I said, you aren’t… in your right mind right now. You wouldn’t do this sober.”

“So?” Weyoun asked. “I’m _not_ sober.”

“Exactly. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Damar sighed, and Weyoun thought he saw him turn away for a moment like he was looking for outside help to get him out of the conversation. “I would be taking advantage of you in a weakened state.”

 _“So?”_ Weyoun repeated. “I said I’ve done it before.”

Once again, Damar sighed. He sat back down on the bed, resting a hand on Weyoun’s arm. “Sleep this off, and I’ll have a serious discussion with you about consent tomorrow. If you even remember this conversation.”

Weyoun wanted to once again retort, but Damar’s tone had an air of finality to it, so he stayed silent, feeling himself begin to drift off. He grabbed Damar’s arm before he did, holding it tightly before letting go again. “Please stay,” he whispered, so quiet he wasn’t even positive Damar heard him. 

There wasn’t a response for a long time, or maybe Weyoun had no perception of time at the moment before Damar answered. “It’s not like I have anywhere to be,” he said, and Weyoun took that as a _yes, I will stay,_ and was satisfied enough to allow himself to fall asleep. 

********

Weyoun did remember last night, he remembered it as soon as he woke up and turned to see Damar sleeping in the chair next to his bed. He sat up, pulling off his blankets and trying to get the taste of alcohol and abject humiliation out of his mouth, going about his morning in the most normal way he could. Damar stirred awake as Weyoun was styling his hair in the mirror by his dresser, and he froze when he heard him move. 

“Good morning,” he said after a long pause, refusing to turn to look at him. He even avoided Damar’s gaze in the mirror. 

“Morning,” Damar said, just as awkward as Weyoun did. He rubbed his neck, grimacing like he’d pulled a muscle from sleeping in a chair.

“You could’ve slept on the bed.” Weyoun wasn’t sure why he said that, it had spilled out of his mouth before he had time to think about it. 

“I could’ve,” Damar agreed, brushing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “But it didn’t feel appropriate, given the… circumstances.”

Weyoun nodded vaguely, cursing under his breath as one single curl of his hair refused to obey and continued springing out of the bun whenever Weyoun removed his hand. He swallowed, finally meeting Damar’s eyes as he turned his head. “Thank you.”

“For staying?” Damar shrugged. “You would’ve made more idiotic decisions if I left you alone.”

Weyoun shook his head, looking away again. “Not for that. At least, not only for that.” 

Damar knew what he was talking about, because he heard him shift, and Weyoun watched through the mirror as he took a step closer to him. “I only did what anyone should’ve done. You shouldn’t have to thank me for that.”

Weyoun’s eyes narrowed at Damar’s tone and he spun around, crossing his arms. “Just because Vorta don’t have the same… _flowery_ notions of _sex_ that all of you have, doesn’t mean you can-”

“It’s _flowery_ not to _rape_ someone?”

“It isn’t-”

“Yes, it is, Weyoun, you were drunk out of your mind, and _clearly_ you wouldn’t want that sober, and it’s _despicable_ that you were ever in that position with someone who preyed on you and-”

Weyoun’s nostrils flared and he stepped forward, glaring up at Damar. “Don’t you _dare_ pity me. I can accept concern for my well being, I can accept your principles, your misplaced concept of consent and what-have-you, but- Don’t. You. Dare. Pity me.”

“Well _excuse me_ for having the basic decency to wish you hadn’t been subjected to that level of abuse,” Damar retorted.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, Weyoun’s fist clenching and unclenching against his side. “Get out. Now,” he said finally. 

“Weyoun-”

 _“Shut up, shut up,_ and _leave.”_ Weyoun’s voice was rising in volume. He was close to throwing the hairbrush he hadn’t even realized he was still holding at Damar’s head and he wasn’t even sure _why._ Thankfully, Damar was out of the room before Weyoun could act on that impulse, and he ended up throwing the hairbrush across the room, where it harmlessly bounced off the wall and landed somewhere behind his bed. 

Tears were spilling out of his eyes and he wiped them away, He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t weak and pathetic and in need of hollow sympathy from anyone, all he ever did was his _job,_ and sometimes it entailed things he didn’t like. That was the way it was, that was what it meant to be a Vorta, to serve the Founders. He shouldn’t be crying.

The genuine affection in Damar’s voice, the feeling of being humanized for once in his life should not have affected him as much as it did. The fact that someone had taken care to… how had Damar put it? _Do what anyone should’ve done._ But no one had ever done it before. It shouldn’t make Weyoun feel this way, but here he was. 

He shouldn’t like being thought of in the way Damar thought of him, Vorta weren’t meant to be anything but tools, a means to an end, blind and obedient servants. But Damar considered him as real as any other being, and Weyoun hated and loved it. 

Weyoun should apologize; he knew he should. It wasn’t fair of him to be so cruel to Damar for the sole reason that he cared. Even if his caring came in the form of pity. 

He wondered if that meant he had to apologize to Jake too, but he didn’t want to think about that. In his mind, it was Jake’s fault this entire thing had started, he’d been the one to throw Weyoun down a rabbit hole of questioning his loyalty. 

The next few days were tense, Weyoun would avoid Damar at any possible opportunity, and the only time they spoke was when it was necessary. Which was hardly ever. Weyoun spent more time with Dukat, considering he was technically Weyoun’s equal, or at least immediate subordinate, and it was hell. 

Talking with Damar was never this much of a minefield; it was like anything Weyoun did was an opportunity for Dukat to make unwanted advances, and Weyoun, unlike the Dabo girl, didn’t have the luxury of being able to slap him. He’d worked with people like this before, but Dukat was a different breed. Maybe because he was a Cardassian, and Weyoun’s annoyance with him only served to make Dukat more likely to continue in his pursuits. 

Dukat knew he couldn’t go too far, that Weyoun wouldn’t accept such a blatant disregard for his authority, but he knew exactly how to make Weyoun particularly uncomfortable without _actually_ doing anything. He might stand too close for Weyoun to feel safe, touch his shoulder and dig his nails into the skin, and force everything Weyoun said to him into some sort of innuendo. The Founder would tell him to accept the treatment, even encourage it if it would keep Dukat satisfied, but even with the absolute most compartmentalizing and pretending, he didn’t think he’d be capable of it. 

Which likely meant he was defective, so of course he didn’t tell the Founder. He didn’t want to be terminated. It was an unfortunate position to be in, and if people like Jake and Damar and even Quark and Odo hadn’t forced into him this idea that he was more than a mindless servant for the Founders, it wouldn’t be such an unfortunate position. 

It was one night when Weyoun and Dukat were working late in an otherwise abandoned meeting room of DS9, that Dukat decided he would make Weyoun uncomfortable, and then go even further. 

“Can I interest you in some kanar?” Dukat asked, and the closeness of his voice made him jump, he could feel his breath against his ear and it made him want to cringe away, but he grit his teeth and tried to stay still.

“No, thank you. I should be going. We can finish these reports tomorrow morning.” He stood, knocking into Dukat, who was behind him, leaning over his shoulder, and took two steps before his wrist was grabbed, so tightly it would leave marks on Weyoun’s pale skin. 

“Dukat,” he began warningly, turning back around to look at him. He didn’t try to tug his arm away, he knew the effort would be futile. “Please let go of my arm.”

Instead of letting him go, Dukat pulled him closer, his smile wide and dangerous. “Tell me, Weyoun, when your _Gods_ create you, do they program you to be so contrary and disagreeable, or is that a flaw in your personality?”

Weyoun blinked, glancing down at his arm and flexing his fingers, which were starting to turn numb. “The Founders don’t make mistakes,” he said, and he caved in to the temptation and made a fruitless attempt to pull his arm away. It only made Dukat’s smile widen. 

“If the Founders don’t make mistakes, then it must be you, Weyoun. You’re so resistant to me, your most powerful ally. It makes the Dominion’s relationship with Cardassia…” he paused, bringing his other hand to Weyoun’s jaw to force his head up, “unstable,” he finished.

If Weyoun hadn’t been shaking in fear, he would’ve laughed at Dukat’s pathetic attempts at psychological manipulation. Instead, he remained quiet, focusing on keeping his breathing as even as possible.

“I should tell the Founders that. I should request someone more… agreeable.” He pushed against Weyoun and he felt his lower back digging into the back of his chair painfully. “What would they do if I told them I wanted a replacement?”

He seemed to expect an answer now, and between the pain of the chair digging into him, Dukat’s arms grabbing him, and that terrifying smile on his face, Weyoun couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice.

“I- I imagine they would… order me to- to activate my termination implant, and- send a different Vorta. Considering- considering I am expendable, and the Dominion’s relationship with the Cardassians needs to be- to be preserved.”

“I see.” Dukat loosened his grip on Weyoun’s jaw enough to run his fingertips across it, up to his ear, and then back down again. “It would be such a shame to have to see your line terminated.”

He knew where Dukat was going with this, that he was going to threaten Weyoun with the termination of his line unless Weyoun did what he wanted, and he braced himself to be forced into something he’d been trying so hard to stay safe from.

Blissfully, Dukat was prevented from continuing the sentence when the door buzzed, signaling someone was entering. Dukat glanced up and Weyoun closed his eyes, praying it wasn’t the Founder, or a Jem’Hadar soldier, or even Major Kira or Ziyal. The humiliation would cause him to spontaneously combust. Dukat hadn’t let go of Weyoun, in fact, he hadn’t even stepped back. 

“Ah, Damar,” he said, and Weyoun wanted to disappear into the floor forever. 

“Sir,” Damar said, and Weyoun could imagine his eyes flickering from Weyoun back to Dukat again, trying to figure out what to do. Weyoun was caught between outright begging _please save me_ and yelling at him to leave again, so he stayed silent. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Dukat asked, and his grip against Weyoun tightened as he attempted once again to wriggle away. Damar must’ve seen it because Weyoun heard him step closer. 

“Actually, I’ve been looking for Weyoun. I need to speak to him.”

“Of course.”

There was a long silence. “It’s more of a-” Damar began, before breaking off. “Odo wants to see him,” he said, and Weyoun made a mental note to teach Damar how to be a better liar. “He says it’s a matter of some importance.”

“I see.” Dukat didn’t believe him, Weyoun could tell by the hesitance in his voice, but he didn’t seem to think Weyoun was worth all this work, so he released his grip on him and took half a step back, allowing Weyoun to open his eyes and breathe again. “We’ll continue this conversation at a later date, Weyoun.”

Weyoun could barely manage to look him in the eyes as he nodded. “Of course. Goodnight, Dukat.” He turned and ran out of the room, so fast it took Damar a few extra seconds to catch up to him. 

“Weyoun.”

Weyoun shook his head, rubbing his arm where Dukat had grabbed it, _hating_ how he felt, hating how weak and fragile he was, that Dukat could so easily do this to him. “Damar, I don’t- please. Please leave me alone.” He stepped into the turbolift, directing it to the habitat ring as quickly as possible, but not fast enough to prevent Damar from entering after him before the doors slid shut. 

“Weyoun, I know you don’t want me to be, but I’m worried about you,” he said before Weyoun could even open his mouth to speak again. 

“I’m _fine,_ Damar. I live to serve the Founders, and whatever path they have laid out for me-”

“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t come in? Would the Founders have protected you from that?”

He didn’t have an answer for that and looked down at the floor. “It is my role to-” 

“Fuck your _role,_ Weyoun, do you _know_ what would’ve happened if I hadn’t come in?”

“Of _course_ I know!” Weyoun snapped, his voice louder than he’d intended for it to be. “I’m not stupid! You don’t know the half of what I’ve been through for my duties to the Founders, and I have never _once_ allowed myself to question them, not until you. I’ve survived far worse, and I’ve died to less impressive men than him, and _I’m_ still here, Damar. Because I know where my place is. And that’s something you should learn.”

They were quiet, listening to the sounds of the turbolift, Weyoun staring at the floor, refusing to be the one to break the silence. When the turbolift doors slid open, Damar spoke before Weyoun could step out and put this entire day behind him forever.

“I know you don’t want my pity,” he said, making Weyoun stop at the threshold. “So I’m sorry for that. I didn’t mean to cause you any…” he trailed off, waving his arm. “And I know you don’t want my protection or my concern,” he added.

Weyoun opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted before he could start.

“But you need it. You’re a living person, and I’m not going to stand by and let you be in pain when I know there’s something I could do to prevent it. I did that enough during the occupation. I played my role and I thought I knew where my place was, but I was miserable. The things I watched Dukat do…” He shook his head as if to clear the images from his mind. “I won’t let it happen again, not to you, or anyone else.”

A pain began to form in Weyoun’s chest, one he was becoming all too familiar with as of late, that compulsion to start crying. “Why? We aren’t even _friends._ I don’t even-” he’d been about to say _I don’t even like you,_ but the words stuck in his throat. “I’m not a person. I’m not real, Damar. None of this-” he gestured to himself, swallowing back a sob as he did so, “none of this is real. I’m nothing. Dukat was right, I _am_ defective, I shouldn’t-”

“Weyoun, anything you could’ve said has been discredited by you saying the words _Dukat was right._ That man is a _moron,_ and he doesn’t even deserve your contempt. He’s the one who’s nothing. Not you.” Damar finally stepped out of the turbolift, walking around Weyoun and stopping a few paces away from him. 

Turning to watch Damar, Weyoun felt something else stirring inside him, that warm feeling, the one he remembered when he’d gotten drunk and Damar had held his hand, the one that had prompted him to decide he needed to get as close to Damar as possible, and he’d thought it had been because of his drunkenness, but… he wasn’t drunk now. 

“I suppose I can’t deny that he is a moron,” Weyoun conceded. “But… I _am_ defective. Not for the reasons he thinks, but still.” He took a step closer to Damar, tilting his head to the side as he felt his heartbeat speed up.

“Being defective means you’re real. Every living being has its flaws.”

Weyoun took one more step closer, he was now standing in the middle of the otherwise abandoned hallway, about half a step away from Damar. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Things would be easier. I’d like to be the way the Founders think I am.” He shook his head, looking down at his hands. “I’m not. Not at all.”

“I happen to like you like you this way.”

Damar’s eyes were a nice color, Weyoun thought, even though he wasn’t sure about what constituted a nice color. Weyoun blinked up at him, and he moved to close that half-step distance between them. “I’m not drunk,” he said, a hand moving to touch Damar’s arm, running down it until he reached his palm and intertwined their fingers. 

“What?” Damar asked belatedly, glancing down at their hands and then looking back at Weyoun’s face again. 

“You said I wouldn’t do this sober.”

“Oh.”

Weyoun copied the movement of his right hand with his left, and Damar tangled their fingers together. “Are you drunk?” Weyoun asked, and he could almost feel Damar’s lips touching his as he spoke.

Damar shook his head and the movement brought them microscopically closer. “No.” 

“Do you think I’ll still regret this tomorrow?” 

The ghost of a smile flashed across Damar’s face. “Most likely.”

“I think so, too.” Weyoun tilted his head. “But I find that knowledge isn’t doing anything to quell my desire at the moment.”

 _“That,_ Weyoun, is called impulsivity.”

“Ah.” He stared at Damar a moment longer, watching his eyes open and close as he blinked, watching the scales on his neck move as he swallowed. “May I kiss you?” 

“I think I’ll regret it tomorrow as well. But yes.”

Weyoun smiled. He watched Damar close his eyes and stayed there, eyes wide as he examined the features he’d never taken the time to examine before, the ridges on his nose and around his eyes, the different colors of his scales. After what felt like an eternity that was nowhere near long enough, he closed his eyes and kissed him. 

The kiss didn’t last long, Weyoun had underestimated how much air he would need and pulled away after only a few seconds to take a breath against Damar’s lips, and then tried again. This one was better, although Damar was annoyingly tall and Weyoun decided to stand on his toes. Their chests pressed together as Damar removed his hands from Weyoun’s, placing one against the back of his ear as the other wrapped around his back, holding him up. 

Hesitantly opening his mouth, Weyoun felt the curve of Damar’s lips with his tongue before pulling away again, breathing in a long, deep breath and letting it out. Damar’s lips followed his, and Weyoun thought that he might make Weyoun’s life easier by bending down to kiss him again, but instead slid his hand down to Weyoun’s waist and lifted him like he weighed nothing at all. 

The little squeak of surprise Weyoun made was a bit embarrassing, but he pushed past it, wrapping his legs around Damar and tangling his fingers in his hair. 

“Has anyone ever told you how disconcertingly _pretty_ you are?” Damar breathed before their lips met again and neither of them hesitated to allow their tongues to meet, and it sent a shiver down Weyoun’s spine. 

When they pulled away again, Weyoun took a moment to respond. “Not in those exact words.” They kissed again, and Weyoun took this opportunity to examine the intricacies that were kissing a Cardassian. By intricacies, he meant the fact that Damar had a forked tongue, and that it felt _very_ nice against his. It was thinner and more flexible than Weyoun’s, flicking across his mouth and against his lips in a way that shouldn’t be allowed. 

At some point that Weyoun hadn’t noticed, they’d ended up at the door to Weyoun’s quarters, and Damar broke another kiss to set Weyoun down. He looked up at Damar, breathing heavily, his entire body lit on fire. 

“Do you want to come in?” He asked, barely managing to unlock the door behind him without breaking away from his hold onto Damar. 

“I want to,” Damar said, and there was hesitance in his voice, a certain reluctance, and Weyoun stared up at him, waiting for him to continue. Damar swallowed, running a hand up and down Weyoun’s waist, pressing against him like he was trying to consume his body heat. Maybe he was. 

“Fuck it,” he finally muttered, and his low voice in Weyoun’s ear sent a pleasing shiver down his spine. 

“Yes, I’m hoping you will,” Weyoun responded, grinning against Damar’s mouth as they kissed again, making their way into Weyoun’s quarters. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kaijuvenom)  
> [Tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/)  
> me while writing this was just: one thought head full  
> and that one thought is just. weyoun.  
> and i went with that.  
> so sorry if mayhaps damar seems out of character or even weyoun tbh im not sure anymore what theyre Actually Like.. i only know casey biggs and jeffery combs romeo and juliet. this is my brain on casey biggs and jeffery combs romeo and juliet.


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